


Jeeves and the Discarded Papers

by MangoTea



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M, Sad attempt at Wodehousian type writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoTea/pseuds/MangoTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeeves finds some of Bertie's discarded drafts, and they are rather unpublishable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Discarded Papers

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt from the Jooster [Kink Meme](http://community.livejournal.com/ohidosay/277.html). I originally posted this locked on LJ, but now that I have a fic name I am dusting off my old works and posting them publicly. I changed a few words to correct some grammar and spelling mistakes.

I was surprised to find folded sheets of paper in the waste bin next to Mr. Wooster’s desk. I had not observed him writing as of late. When he is writing a story he often gets consumed by it, devoting nearly every hour out of bed to trying to express the adventures we have been through. Usually, he talks over the series of events with me first, to make sure every detail in sorted in his mind. 

Despite his claim that he does not work, Mr. Wooster actually makes a tidy sum off his stories, and has some following. The amount of money may not seem like more than pocket change to him, but the average person would find the income quite agreeable. I imagine it must be satisfying for him, to have an artistic outlet. Perhaps he was trying his hand at something a bit different. Keen as I always am to make sure that he is not about to unknowingly do something unseemly or get entangled with the wrong sort of thing, I picked up the papers and took them to my room to read them over. I was soon very glad that I had retreated to my own private space. 

_“Once he had pulled my shirt free, my trusted valet’s hands ran under the fabric, over my skin. I had never done more than kiss before and was rightly nervous at the prospect of intimate relations. I knew that the man who I trusted time and time again would lead me through it. All I knew is that I wanted to give myself to him, let him bugger me._

_I wonder what buggering would be like. From what I hear, sometimes it sounds like chaps like it, and sometimes the talk around the Drones makes it sound like it’s a horrible thing to have done to you. Does the buggered party feel good, or do they only endure it to please their loved one? The idea is interesting, though, of letting your partner satisfy himself with your body.”_

It started like an erotic tale, but had wandered off into musing. The other sheets were much of the same, attempts at writing sex scenes by someone who had no real idea of what it was like. They all starred my master and myself. Images of him coming to my shyly, wanting me to teach him about love-making swam in my mind. The truth is, I love him, desperately. That is why I get so involved in his little adventures. 

I picked up another sheet, one with awkward descriptions of pectoral muscles and upright nipples. I then did the worst thing I could have done under the circumstances, I laid back and touched myself as I read through the rest. Then I came to one which was a description of him masturbating. 

_“I touched the liquid that began to drip out of my cock. I lifted a few drops to my lips to taste them. Would Jeeves taste like this? Or would he taste different? I sucked my fingers into my mouth and pretended that I was sucking his cock. The thought caused my desire to spike and my pulse to race all the more. When I had finished I felt little satisfaction. I felt a sullen discontent weighing down my limbs. The more rapturous and wonderful I feel while touching myself, the more I feel horrible and alone afterwards. Is sex the same? Is that why people talk about needing to hold each other after? Are they comforting each other through the ordeal of the bleak feelings that following ejaculation?”_

The first few lines had been, to me, the most arousing ever committed to paper. They were clearly drawn from an actual experience of his. Oh, my beloved Bertram, thinking about me while he pleasured himself. The second half of the recollection was a cold splash of water on my wanton enjoyment of his writing as masturbatory aid. I knew the Bertram was an orphan. Surely, at some point a teacher or uncle had sat his down and talked over the most basic aspects of sex with him. Was all this knowledge based on overheard gossip at the Drones? Was he truly so lonely? Did he love me, or was I simply the person that he is closest to? I touch him daily in the course of my duties. When I first started, I even used to scrub his back in the tub. Suddenly, the master growing a bit more independent in his bathing took on new meaning. 

If I could only be sure that this was love, I would gladly take him in my arms the next time he walked through the door. Nothing could make me happier than to have Bertram Wooster as my lover and my partner. For Bertram, most people flit in and out of his life. While he has many friends there is no one he could point to as being an especially close one. He would never consider bringing any fellow Drone with us on a vacation just for companionship. Even his many suitors had rarely given him a quick hug. Outside of myself, the friendly arm punches from Honoria Glossop were as close as Bertram ever got to receiving affection. He is always so spirited, greeting each day with a sunny outlook. As long as that greeting does not take place before 11:00 A.M. or so, of course. I never paused to wonder if he was really happy with his life, or if he was hiding pain. He seems so flighty at times that it is easy to forget that his has an iron will and incredible strength of spirit. 

I spent some time thinking the problem over. It would be easy to simply secure Bertram for my own. Seducing him would be easy. I could shape our relationship in any way that I wished. It would not even be difficult, especially with the little glimpses into his thinking that I held in my hand. However, such a course of action would be intolerable to me. I'd never know if his love was real. The first step I would have to take, would be to arrange a circumstance where he would be able to meet other young men who preferred the company of men. Fortunately, this would not be difficult considering some of his interests. I went to talk to a few fellow Junior Ganymedes to set things in motion. 

A few days later I was entering the flat. The young master must have heard bits and pieces of the staged conversation I'd been having with a fellow valet named Hemmings. He was an older gentleman who could always be relied on to teach other valets how to improve their tea service. Mr. Wooster was reading the paper, or skimming it at any rate. I headed into the kitchen to make his lunch. I was just cutting his sandwich when he walked in.

"I say, old thing, I know it is the farthest thing from my business ..." 

"Sir?"

"But, well, what I mean to say is, was that other gentleman in the street attempting to touch you for a bit of money?"

"Not exactly, sir."

"He seemed quite animated about ... whatever it was." With that Mr. Wooster pulled the plate toward him and started eating at the kitchen table. 

"I hesitate, of course, to be so bold as to ask for your help in a personal matter of my own."

"Nonsense! After all the help you have given me, I would gladly assist you in any way that I can. Lay your burdens on me."

"Hemmings is a recently retired valet, sir. He is trying to find new things to do with his time. Having an interest in the arts, and having a lifetime of savings, he has taken to investing in musical theatre. There is a new show in the making called Up The Street that he is very excited about. He thinks that it is a sure winner and is trying to give some of his friends a chance to also throw their lot in."

The young master's reaction was not what I had anticipated. He started laughing at me, and heartily. "Oh, Jeeves, you poor thing. If this Hemmings really is a good egg, bring him 'round the flat so I can teach him a thing or two. Oh, dear."

"Sir?"

"First of all, investing in musical theatre is not a way to make money! Outside of professional producers, no one who invests habitually gets a net profit from it. It's rather like patronage. I invest in shows I like simply because the world is a better place with bright, cheerful entertainment available to it. If I took is seriously and tried to use it to rake in a tidy pile of coinage, I would not be able to remain on such terms as I am with so many artists. It is a risk only to be taken with money that one does not rely on. Also, since any show could flop, one should never, and mark this down, Jeeves, never recommend investments to a friend. What easier want to tear apart a friendship? Once, a fellow Drone merely heard me mention an investment I was about to make. Oh, did that end up dreadfully."

"Did the gentlemen lose much money?"

"No, far worse than that! The show was a hit! My friends were all sore at me because they hadn't shared in the win. The only thing that upsets people more than losing money, is watching other people make money in their place. I swore off dabbling in stage productions for a full year, because everyone was tearing at me for the next sure thing. In that six month I had, overall, lost three hundred pounds on my hobby. 

And if this bloke is not a good egg, he might be trying to take advantage of you. The more people who invest, the better chance a show has."

"He is one of the best, sir, I assure you. Perhaps he is just getting carried away with his new hobby."

"I haven't heard of this Up The Street, what is it about?"

"I could not say, sir. I only know that they are having a rehearsal in a few days that I was invited to attend." 

"Jeeves, I must say I am surprised. You do my books these days. Have you not seen my steady losses?"

"Actually, you are in the black both for this year and since I started doing your books."

At this, Mr. Wooster started. "Really? You don't say? In any case, I admit I am somewhat curious to see this rehearsal if he is so excited about it." 

So, as planned, a few days later he was hobnobbing with a bunch of the people behind the show. All of them inverts. Mr. Bergstrom and a few others who could be trusted had been told that Mr. Wooster was lonely, closeted invert. As was proper, I left after the performance. I admit pausing at the door, a hundred schemes to get my master to leave with me racing in my mind. What was I thinking? Giving him the chance to find someone else? 

No, things had to be this way. Bertram needed to be able to choose me freely, not be chained by his own ignorance. I still spent the next week sick with worry. He always got along well with artistic types, even if he foolishly did not count himself as one of their number. He had quickly fell into the habit of heading down to the theatre about once a day to see how things were going. Apparently, they had added an additional song to the end of the first act, and were going over the whole show with a fine toothed comb to make sure everything was still coherent. Bertram had admitted that they had come to him for feedback, as an average, dull theatre-goer. Though, I suspected that they were actually finding his advice on plot structure invaluable, or else that would not tolerate an idle gentleman to hang out there day after day. When he was helping produce a show he never told the writers what to do, but often made suggestions that wound up impacting the show more than he would ever admit. 

On one sunny afternoon I found Mr. Wooster seeming rather deflated after his return. I swiftly poured him a scotch and soda and appeared next to him with it. "Is the show not going well, sir?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, the show. It's going rather well actually. They really have livened it up quite a bit. I actually took Mr. Hollister down, who is a serious producer. The show will definitely have plenty of money to take it's time and get thoroughly polished before it has to worry about things like opening and making money. You did wind up tossing in a few bob of your own, didn't you? It might do rather well for you." 

"You do not seem pleased, sir."

"Oh, it's nothing. Every had what you thought was a clever scheme backfire? I've been outmaneuvered, Jeeves. The door locked behind me before I knew what was going on."

"Sir, if I may be so bold as to offer advice, when one scheme fails sometimes a new one can still salvage the situation."

He let out a short bark of a laugh. "Some battles cannot be won, Jeeves."

Two impulses tore at me, making it hard to maintain my composure. If Bertram had found someone, I wanted my master to win the heart of whoever he chose. On the other hand, the thought of losing him was terrible. No, no matter what, I would do anything to ensure his happiness. 

"If I may be of any assistance, sir ..."

"No, Jeeves. I received the message loud and clear. You won't be troubled any more about this."

I retreated into the kitchen. Safely out of sight, I grabbed the back of one of the chairs and let my hands tighten. I let myself shake for a few moments. Silly as it sounds, I needed to indulge myself in a few moments of expressing the turmoil within me. He had made a play for someone he'd known for only a few days. I wanted to cry, but could not allow myself to be seen with reddened eyes. Tonight, when Ber ... no, I must school my thoughts better, when the young master was safely asleep I could let myself fall apart. Perhaps I could tempt him with a strong cocktail before bed, to ensure that he does not stir. 

I looked around the kitchen, seeking any cleaning that could be done. Finding too many things in top shape, I had to content myself with cleaning the tops of the cupboards. I don't include them as part of my usual routine, so I have a project to tackle when I need it. The only other task I could possibly undertake would be to empty and clean the master's wardrobe and resort all the clothes. Something about being in his bedroom for hours, running my hands over his undershirts did not seem like the best course of action at this point. 

When the tops of the cupboards were clean enough to eat off of, I started through my cookbooks looking for the most complex recipe I could find for dinner. I settled on a fish and leek soup that needed the complex flavors built up slowly and baking the dinner rolls myself. Something obviously out of the ordinary, like risotto, might cause master to ask questions I did not feel like answering. 

Something was nagging me about what Master had said, but I resolutely pushed the matter from my mind, and focused on carefully slicing vegetables. About halfway through the process, when I had about three different burners going, Mr. Wooster walked in. I suppressed a flash of annoyance. My plan had for him to consume the soup with any idea of the steps involved. He just sat silently at the kitchen table. I ignored him and went about straining the broth yet again in between stirring vegetables, shrimp tail and spices over other burners. It wasn't until my activity started to lull, that my employer finally spoke. 

"Well, I know why I'm in the dumps, but the warm, comforting scent of you baking bread means that my valet is also not his usual self."

"Sir?"

"Oh, don't 'sir' me, my man. We've lived together how long? I usually let you brood in peace and just enjoy the culinary results, which smell amazing, by the way. I just have no clue why you've been set off this badly."

Having been so precisely called out as to my motivations, I found I could not simply deny them. Instead I pulled the rolls from the oven. I put one and a pat of butter on a plate. 

"Sir, forgive me. It is not seemly for a valet to be so transparent. Please just let this pass. I promise that it shall pass, and soon." I handed him the plate. "It is not yet tea time, but, there is nothing quite like a roll that is still warm from the oven. Just wait for it cool a bit, or the steam will burn you." 

"Please, just, tell me that you will forgive my feeble attempt? Tell me that you aren't eyeing greener pastures. Dash it, I know I should pretend that it never happened, but I can't bear the thought of you leaving."

"Sir, I don't understand."

At this, my master's melancholy features darkened. He slapped his hand down on the table. "If you want me to shut up, tell me plainly. I just can't take this aloof formality. It makes me think that ... Oh, god, you'd only hate me if you knew what it made me think." The anguish in his voice was horrible. 

"Sir, I mean, Mr. Wooster, forgive me, but, some of what you say makes perfect sense to me and is completely true, but some of it does baffle me. Honestly." I'd turned the burners off and sat down at the table. I leaned forward in hopes of catching his eye. Tears were running down his cheeks.

"I ... felt that there was always at least a spark of warmth between us, I presumed to consider it friendship. Now I feel like I've gone way too far and trodden on something precious. Even worse, maybe I was delusional in thinking it was ever there." 

His voice had gone a bit hoarse. In all our years together I had never seen him this upset. Since my emotional state was already a little rocky, my reserve shattered and I reached out to cup that downturned face in my hands. My thumbs brushed his cheeks, wiping at the wetness there. Then he did something amazing. He turned his head slightly so his mouth was in my right palm, and he pressed a kiss to the skin there. I felt my whole body react to that small kiss. A feeling that was like electricity and hope washed through me. I felt him sob as soon as the brief kiss ended. I stood, my legs pushing the chair back from the table, and knelt next to him. I moved my hands to his shoulders and pulled him to me. He half fell out of the chair and into my arms. I settled his head onto my shoulder. His arms came around me and he clung to my torso. He trembled against me. 

I didn't even realize that I had started talking at first. Words just tumbled out of me. "It's alright. No matter what, I've got you. I'll never leave you. Whatever is wrong, Bertram, I swear I will fix it. I'll take care of you, always." 

When he stopped shaking, he spoke in a small voice. "Maybe, somehow we've had a bit of a misunderstanding, what?" 

"It does seem that way. Tell me how things seem to you." I scooted us back so I could lean against the cupboards. I then shifted him so we could both sit more comfortably on the hard floor. He sighed and relaxed against me.

"Just give me a minute. This is so lovely."

I started to scratch his back, remembering how much he used to enjoy having the skin around his shoulder blades scrubbed back when he let me assist with baths. He drew a deep, shaky breath. Oh, yes, he was enjoying my touch. I was still bewildered, but to have Bertram respond to me like this gave me a warm feeling, like the best possible outcome was going to come out of this. 

Eventually he started to speak. "I had been trying to find ways to let you know how I feel about you. I came up with many plans, but often lost my nerve. Leaving the papers in the bin seemed to be doable. At least it didn't mean having to face you directly. Just a few days after you read them, I find myself delivered into a group of fellow inverts. At first I didn't think anything of it. Then one of started very directly going after me, making it very clear that he was dashed certain I was both an invert and horribly repressed."

"The writings, those were deliberate? Why were you sure I'd read them?"

"I wasn't sure, but you put all the waste from around the flat into the kitchen garbage. I check it every chance I got. The papers never got tossed in there. You still have them."

"I ..."

"Your reaction to my advances was to drop me in a pool of other available men." 

"I had no idea. I didn't know it was an advance."

"Why else would you give me the old heave-ho? I knew that the whole investing in musical theater wheeze was a set up as soon as that one cad went after me like he thought he knew me." 

"I fell for your ruse quite neatly. I've been in love with you for some time. I was just scared that you were fantasizing about me because I was the only other man you were close to, the only other man who touches you." 

"Oh for heaven's sake. You also think I am all trapped in myself, don't you? You think I only get offers from ladies? A confirmed bachelor of my age and wealth? I get approached and subtly wooed quite often, thank you. The Code of the Woosters doesn't extend to coves, I tell them to bugger off and leave me alone."

"But, your writing, you wrote as if you had no knowledge of intimate relations."

"Of course! Why would I sleep with someone who I didn't love? You are about the only chap whose hands I would allow on this old corpus. I admit to being fuzzier on some of the details than I would like. The only people I could possibly ask would take my inquiries as an invitation to press their advances."

"I had no idea." 

"What, you figured if I really loved you then it wouldn't matter? Those arty coves wouldn't be able to lure me away?"

"Something like that. Oh, Bertram." I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. He responded with enthusiasm. I pressed my tongue to his lips and he let me in. I stroked my tongue along his and felt his moan. He slowly pressed his tongue into my own mouth. I encouraged this by sucking on it. We kissed and gently stroked each other for what felt like days. He began to squirm against me more and more. I pulled back to look at him. The softened lips, the flushed cheeks, the mussed hair, the eyes so focused on mine, oh the way he looked made my heart beat even faster. 

"Jeeves, oh I feel such an ache. I almost can't, I mean ..."

There was such innocence and openness in his words. My hand slid down his chest and cupped his hardened cock in my hand. His eyes widened and he pressed his hips forward into my hand. 

"Yes, that, Jeeves, please." he whimpered.

I whispered into his ear. "Just relax, I'll take care of you. I will make you feel wonderful." I undid the buttons of his fly and slipped my hand into his undershorts. He gasped as my hand wrapped around the most sensitive part of him. I stroked him firmly, watched his face as pleasure started to wash over him. I ignored my own ache firmly, there was nothing more important than fully experiencing this, holding and soothing Bertram through the first time he received pleasure from another person. I could feel the building tension in his body from the way his back muscles bunched and the way his hands grasped at my shirt. He was close. Finally, he climaxed, his body going rigid then finally relaxing again. I felt his hot ejaculate splash my clothes. I drew his spent body closer to mine and cuddled him gently. 

The kitchen was dimly lit when he started to stir again, the daylight that had filled the small space had faded. "Does this mean I get to have your lot thrown in with mine? All that partners in life and forever and ever stuff?" he asked. 

"If you'll have me." 

"Oh, my dear thing."


End file.
